


Longing

by dark_nexus17



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Fallen Castiel, Gen, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-17 14:37:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dark_nexus17/pseuds/dark_nexus17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'He aches to roam the arctic tundra of the Svalbard archipelago, relish the dry, burning heat of the Sahara, and sit among the thousands of species in the Andean corridor.' Castiel longs for what he has lost. Short introspective piece, set at some point after the Season 8 finale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Longing

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all, this is just a short piece, my first for the Supernatural fandom. It's from Castiel's point of view, and I hope I've managed to do him justice. Thanks for reading!

There is a human saying, that Castiel cannot quite recall, something about missing something only when you no longer have it. Castiel had never taken his angelic abilities for granted, there was after all that one period where he was losing his grace, which made him appreciate what he had. No, he has always praised God for his gifts, for the ability to fly, to save those he has grown to love from pain and suffering, to heal himself so that he could remain of use to others. Despite the fall having taken place two months ago, he cannot think of it without a suppressed shudder, he has not had much cause to lament the loss of many of his previous talents. Some, the most useful, he does miss. Sam's illness as a consequence of the trials is a daily reminder of his loss. The knowledge that he is no longer able to heal his family chafes him.

There are other things he misses of course; Dean's surprised look when he would silently appear with a "Hello, Dean.” the clamour of his estranged brothers and sisters. What he finds himself missing most however, is freedom. 

He is trapped in the vessel, for he cannot think of it as his own flesh; made to take the slow road, the road in which one cannot be everywhere, do most everything with less than a seconds thought. He longs, desperately longs, for sights other than the men of letters headquarters where he currently resides. He aches to roam the arctic tundra of the Svalbard archipelago, relish the dry, burning heat of the Sahara, and sit among the thousands of species in the Andean corridor. This existence stifles him, envelopes him, and he can feel it pulling at him, confining him in this body. He can no longer view the curvature of the Earth from the dust of the Moon, nor experience the wavelengths of light emitted by distant stars and galaxies. Regions of ethereal beauty such as these are lost to him; he cannot hope to regain them.

He must find it within himself to be content with the hand that life has dealt him, and no longer wish for more.


End file.
